


The Watchful Guardian at My Back

by fadagaski



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Ace adopts Furiosa, Citadel, F/M, Fighting, First Orgasm, Gen, Machine-Induced Orgasm, Motorbikes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:39:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets from the lives of Ace and Furiosa, before - well, before everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting to Know You

She's a scrap of a girl wrapped in fine cloth the like of which he's never seen, but she fights like a spitting demon. Ace watches from a distance at first as the hierarchy rearranges around the newcomer, one not from the nursery but from Somewhere Else. 

The brawl where she puts six Warboys in the bloodshed under Organic's tender mercy is the point where Ace steps forward, slings an arm over her shoulder (she almost elbows him in the solar plexus before he catches hold) and claims her for himself with a growled, “My pup.” 

She goes still under his firm hand – at least until they get somewhere quieter, and then she's all vicious legs and sharp nails and teeth. Ace has eighty pounds of solid muscle and acres of reach on her, pins her backwards to his chest and squeezes tight.

“Joe-damn feral pup, calm it!” he growls in her ear.

It's not calm, but the fury abates. She is waiting for his next move. 

“You wanna keep scrapping in the kennel? I'll let you go right now. But if you wanna do something, make something of yourself, you listen to me. Now I'm gonna let you go. If you break my nose, we're done.”

He lets her go.

She skitters away like a lizard, presses her back to the stone wall, arms up in readiness. 

Ace takes a good look at her. Bald head, tall and gangly, but strong – there's muscle on her that speaks of good food growing up, not like the filth rotting at Citadel's base. She's got curves like the breeders.

The look on her face when he meets her eyes could melt steel.

He wants to ask her where she came from. He wants to ask her how old she is. He wants to ask her name. He wants to ask how a woman somehow came to live amongst Warboys.

“I'm Ace,” he says instead. “I'm a lancer.” She looks unimpressed. “You know how to ride a bike? I can show you.” It's as good a place as any to start learning war.

She lifts her chin, hard as metal. “I know how to ride,” she says scornfully. “I'm Furiosa.” Like that should be explanation enough.

* * *

She's not wrong, he'll give her that. 

Out later that same day on training runs (there's no time to waste in the half-life of a Warboy) and she's leaving everyone behind eating her dust. Ace, riding pillion, had 'borrowed' Trix's pants to wear over his shoulders and arms in the event that Furiosa sent them crashing into a sand dune. 

She hasn't.

They bounce back onto the road, slaloming around the bikes heading back the other way, and Ace can't stop grinning with the thrill of it. There's a hill cresting up ahead and she guns the throttle, standing on the footpegs as they ride faster faster faster and Ace holds on as the bike launches into the air. They land with a bone-shaking thump. 

Furiosa lets out a ululating cry that makes Ace's skin prickle. 

He knocks his head against hers and she looks at him over her shoulder, teeth bared and eyes flashing like green fire. “Head back,” he shouts over the roar of road and engine. 

She wrenches the bike into a stomach-lurching slide, throttling so hard the front wheel lifts and bounces. The tension she's carried all the short hours he's known her slips slowly away.

* * *

After grub and a wash it's closer to lights out than not, and Furiosa has looked peaky since they got inside. She's been easier since the bike run, less frigid, so Ace herds her to his bunk, rolling in himself without a second thought. He only looks up when Furiosa doesn't follow. 

She could be made of stone for how still and solid she stands there. 

“You gonna sleep upright too?” he grouses at her. 

Her jaw clenches, eyes flicking left and right. Ace waits. 

Eventually she masters herself, climbs into the bunk next to him with mechanical movements. Lies on her back and folds her hands over her stomach. Breathes quick, shallow breaths. 

Ace decides he'll never understand full-lifes.

“G'night,” he grumps, rolls over and shuts his eyes. 

…

Doesn't seem like five minutes before he's awake again, but the lights are out and the kennel is filled with snoring Warboys. For a disorienting moment he can't figure out what's woken him. Then there's a whimper, and a hand thumps into his back.

Ace rolls over. 

Furiosa's sleep is anything but restful. Her eyes are squeezed shut, hands clenched bloodless, teeth digging into the flesh of her lip as her head cranes back. The tendons on her neck are magnificent. 

Lots of the Warboys have nightmares. They're all treated the same way. Ace thumps his fist down on her sternum hard enough to echo. Furiosa shoots awake with an almighty gasp. She clocks him in the jaw before he's even realised. 

“Confucisma!” he curses. Blood in his mouth, not unfamiliar. 

Propped on one arm, Furiosa sucks in deep breaths. She is shaking so bad the whole bed trembles. 

“... the smeg is going on down there?” comes Trix's voice from the top bunk. 

“Nothing to do with you, schlanger,” Ace growls back. Trix mutters insults. Ace ignores him, focuses on Furiosa calming herself down. “Y'alright?” he asks softly.

“I'm fine,” she replies, too quick to be anything but automatic. Ace nods. She looks sideways at him. “Did I get you?”

He rubs his jaw. “Least it wasn't my nose.”

* * *

They don't talk about it in the morning.


	2. And Miles To Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> primarybufferpanel asked: Furiosa is a bike-team together with Ace and they share a bunk. He's warm and solid, and she trusts him, but it's not sexual, mostly because she's not found any benefits to the whole sex thing yet. Then during some long ride escorting the war rig she discovers that vibration is, well, a Thing. Ace notices what's going on behind him and wraps his arm around her back to keep her safely in place on the bike

On the outside, Furiosa is the same wall of cool detachment she wears around the kennel, the workshops, the bloodshed – any place with Warboys, really.

Today, though, today she is an revving engine not yet in gear. 

Today she gets to ride in convoy. 

Ace comes up beside her, a solid line of warmth at her shoulder, familiar as her pillow at night. Furiosa shifts towards him subtly. He is the only one who has any idea what this means to her. 

Pups wheel out the bike they'll be riding: a skeletal thing with a blocky engine at its heart and a bristle of lances sticking out the back for Ace. 

He knocks her shoulder with his own and together they approach their bike.

Prime Imperator stalks past them, forehead black as night.

“Today we're heading to Bullet Farm!” calls Chief as he hooks on.

“Bullet Farm!” they all shout back together. 

“Today we're hauling Mother's Milk!” Chief shouts.

“Mother's Milk!” they repeat.

“Today we're fetching ammunition!” 

“Ammunition!” Furiosa screams from the bottom of her lungs. 

The War Rig fires its engines. Ace and Furiosa mount the bike, and she kicks it into ignition.

They roll out past the grasping Wretched. The desert is calling.

It's a long ride over rough road, and for a while everything runs smoothly. Furiosa scans the horizon periodically but there's no sense of impending danger; the Ace is a comforting support against her back, and no one would be stupid enough to challenge the Citadel in its own territory. 

Half way there, though, they hit a bumpy patch. Caught in the backspray of sand from the War Rig, Furiosa doesn't see the pothole until they've crunched painfully over it. Heart pounding, muttering curses under her breath, she keeps them upright, but just barely. 

Something spits out of the engine.

They shudder to a halt. 

“Confucamus!” she yells, slapping her hand against the handlebar. 

The convoy tears away from them. It's a race against time to catch up. Leaping off the bike, she and Ace work as the well-oiled machine they are: he fetches the missing part while she opens the engine hood; his keen eyes diagnose the problem while her slender hands fix it. 

It's a botch job that should just hold until they get to Bullet Farm. Furiosa guns the throttle and the bike skids on.

The engine's different though. Running hot between her thighs, the chassis vibrates in a cycling rhythm, hard-soft-hard-soft. Her hands quickly go numb with it, but that's not her biggest concern right now. 

There's – something happening, a feeling growing way down low in her belly. A kind of tingle feeding off the rattling bike. She can feel it buzzing at the core of her, that place she tries not to think about, a pulsing sensation of heat and sparks. 

Furiosa leans over the handle bars. Sweat breaks out on her forehead, the back of her neck.

She stands on the pedals. It relieves the pressure some, but she finds she misses the sensation. Slowly, she sinks back down. The vibrating machine presses hard onto a place that has the bike skipping in the road. She moans out loud.

“Y'alright Boss?” Ace calls behind her.

Furiosa can't nod because she isn't, she isn't alright. She's never felt this strange sensation before and she doesn't know what's happening to her body and there's a building tension radiating out from her core to her abs and thighs, all of her shaking with it. Her heart pounds in her chest and she can't catch her breath and her hands are sweaty. The engine shakes and shakes and Furiosa is gasping as it presses against a firm pressure point. 

She closes her eyes; the bike skids again. 

“Steady!” Ace says. His arms snake past her to hold the handlebars. Furiosa wants to care, she does, but the giddy buzzing feeling has hold of her and it builds and builds and she's gasping and moaning and then it crests. She's never felt anything like it, blasting waves of intensity slamming through her body and she finds herself grinding down against the bike seeking more delicious friction.

She goes a little light-headed. Ace has an arm around her waist to keep her steady. She is hot all over and her pants feel wet. The engine's vibrations shiver against her over-sensitive flesh and she whimpers high in her throat. 

“Easy, easy,” Ace murmurs. “I got you.”

Bullet Farm is a black smear on the horizon and the bike is still buzzing.


End file.
